


Latent Heat

by Amber



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Choking, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Battle, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn't really have limits. Not like breakable human people do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Latent Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV for the prompts "limits, gagging, self-loathing, blow jobs". Warning for kink without safewords and poor communication? RACK it ain't.

Derek doesn't really have limits. Not like breakable human people do. Derek wants to be clawed open, he wants to be chained up, he wants to be eaten alive. For all Stiles can tell, Derek wants to be punished, and afterwards he wants Stiles to touch him all over, to kiss his face and stroke his head and talk quiet, sweet nonsense. Sometimes he takes Stiles hand and wordlessly brings it to his lap, and that's the sign that Stiles can use his hand or his mouth to drive Derek over the edge, claws dug into the mattress, neck strained, each bitten-out noise aborted halfway through like he's trying to hide how good it is. Of course, he kind of gives it away when he comes all over himself.

"Shit," breathes Stiles, all syrup, as he pushes deep into Derek's mouth, _deep_ , hitting the back of his throat and holding the delicate porcelain hardness of his skull in place so that he can keep going. Derek screws his eyes shut and his throat spasms around the head of Stiles' cock. There are wicked teeth in that mouth, Stiles has seen them, big-bad-wolf teeth when he wants them, but right now they're covered by Derek's soft lips and he's taking Stiles' cock right to the base.

"That's so good," Stiles groans, even though Derek hates getting praise and his eyes snap open to give him a wet-lashed glare. "Sorry, I just— it _is_ , okay?"

Derek pinches his thigh hard in a way that clearly communicates _Shut up and fuck my mouth, Stiles_ , or else that's how Stiles is choosing to interpret it. He pulls back, enjoying the way Derek's throat sucks at him, and then snaps his hips forward again with a slick noise, and they're off.

It's heady, getting off like this. Derek's pretty face is a mess of tears and snot and the thick saliva that he chokes up and drools, dripping to the floor. "Man, you're worse than a dog smelling bacon," Stiles taunts, swiping a thumb through the mess on Derek's chin just to emphasize that it's there as he drives his dick home again. Derek groans. They don't usually go the dog-jokes route, but then, Derek doesn't usually deepthroat so Stiles' mind isn't at its peak performance with regards to abusive dirty-talk. "You know, I'm pretty sure if you make a mess on the floor I'm gonna have to rub your nose in it."

Everything is heat, now, like Derek's warmth has rushed through into Stiles and flushed right out to his fingertips, and they're connected by it, by the warmth that Derek's sharing with him as he sucks obediently at stiles' cock. His entire face has a desperate vulnerability to it, as though he needs this more than air, and maybe that's true because god knows he doesn't protest when Stiles chokes him again, cups the back of his head and feels Derek drooling all over his balls. His bare feet are shifting on the floorboards. Stiles always gets restless right before he comes, wants to run and run forever, and his hips snap out a dirty rhythm.

When the first shock of it lances him, Stiles makes a low keening noise and Derek's suddenly pulling back and tipping his face up to the ceiling, mouth open, like something Stiles has only ever seen in porn. He doesn't even flinch as Stiles shoots thick, hot ropes of come all over his face, dripping slowly down his neck, settling in viscous white pools on his tongue.

"Wow," says Stiles, too breathless to really give it the enthusiasm it deserves, dark eyes wide and a little awed, and they just look at each other for a moment that stretches like taffy, on and on. Stiles goes to touch his face, maybe wipe away a little come, and Derek takes his fingers in his mouth instead, still needing something to suck, and his mouth, his mouth is incendiary.

Derek runs hot. Everything about his body is warm. Stiles likes to kick off all the blankets in the night and just use him as a duvet, pulled close, breath a heater against his ear. Derek's mouth is fire, licked along the length of Stiles' neck to his pulse, where he tastes his racing heartbeat. Derek's hands are two broad heaters and when Stiles is over-stretched and sweaty from lacrosse or marathon sex, Derek massages his big, warm hands down Stiles' back and melts him into the mattress.

Another time, Derek stands with his posture all wrong and bitter, and says, "We shouldn't be doing this," and he won't meet Stiles' eyes properly, not even when Stiles grabs his chin and forces it around. There's something sour in the downturn of his mouth and something guilty in the grey-green-glass of his eyes, and Stiles only understands that he will never understand Derek completely.

Still, he feels like he probably has a better grasp than pretty much the rest of the known universe. Derek's hardly an open book, but Stiles doesn't do well with too much information, he gorges himself on it, unable to tell what's important, when he should stop highlighting. With Derek, every tidbit is significant, and he pieces them together delicately, and what forms is more a fractured sculpture than a picture, but it still tells a story, like all art does. It says, there once was a wild thing in a shape of a man, and the woman he loved burnt his whole family to death, so he cut out his heart and ran away. And then he met a boy who shoved a hand into the gaping hole in his chest and reminded him of what used to be there.

"Okay, dude," Stiles says, exasperated. "I need you to be really clear here. Is this the kind of conversation where we're having a serious discussion about the terms of our, dare I freaking say it, rrrrelationship? Or are you just doing that masochistic thing you do?" And _now_ Derek looks at him, wide-eyed like he's not sure himself. "Because," Stiles continues, slightly more hesitant despite the firm curl of his fingers around Derek's bicep. "If it's that latter thing? i could totally tie you up and beat the shit out of you instead."

The corner of Derek's mouth curls up, and something in his shoulders eases. "You could try."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [deadpans](http://deadpans.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
